


Parameters

by Destina



Category: Halt and Catch Fire
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, M/M, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 15:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8997298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/pseuds/Destina
Summary: Change the variables, shape the outcome.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rekall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rekall/gifts).



> Takes place during/after s03x08 and is not canon-compliant.

Life had always been a set of variables, inputs into the major decisions in Joe's life. Fear was one of those variables. Fear of death, fear of losing. Fear of other people's failure. Fear of their success, and what it might mean for his own chance to shine. 

The word 'mentor' had a particularly rotten aftertaste, like the carcass of his youth wrapped around the shadow of his former greatness. It was the kind of word that masked an entire universe of other words: has-been, washed up, obsolete. People used it when they wanted a genius to step aside and let someone younger take the lead. 

Joe was never meant to be anyone's mentor; he could barely manage partner, and he was a disaster at friend. He understood all those things about himself. What he didn't understand was why he felt compelled to disregard all he knew in favor of keeping Ryan close. The kid was going to outshine him eventually, if he could keep him from self-destructing. 

Maybe it was too late even for that. 

Ryan was on the other side of the door, quiet as a church mouse. His relentless pacing had stopped half an hour before, followed by a bout of frantic keyboard clacking, and now Joe was tossing and turning like he was the one with the decision to make. Around 2AM, he realized - he was. So he got out of bed to face it.

The living room was dark, but city light streamed in from the tall windows, casting Ryan in shades of black and grey where he sat at the dining table. Joe frowned. "You should be asleep."

"Did you come out here because you thought I was asleep? Or were you planning on throwing me out?" The exhaustion in Ryan's voice manifested as a hoarse growl, one Joe recognized from days and weeks spent on projects which had taken all he had to give. This felt familiar. 

"Let's talk," he said. "I'll make some coffee."

"I don't want any coffee," Ryan said. "I don't want to talk anymore. Leave me be."

Joe switched on the lamp and took a hard look at Ryan. He hadn't taken off his shoes or his hoodie; he was slumped over the table. The sheets Joe had tucked into the couch hadn't been slept on. "Okay," Joe said. "I'll talk. You can just...sit there."

Ryan turned his head to glare at him, but otherwise, didn't budge. Joe flicked on the light in the kitchen and filled the tea kettle, then spooned out two cups of instant coffee. For the five minutes it took the water to boil, he could still feel Ryan's eyes boring into his back. The sensation raised the hair on his arms. So much intensity of feeling. Joe understood it, but he was too tired to match it at that moment. Calm logic was the best he could do. 

He stirred the water in, grabbed the milk from the fridge, and took both mugs to the table with the milk held to his chest with one arm. "Drink it or don't, but it's there." Ryan turned his death glare to the mug, but Joe could see flickers of other emotion beneath it - fear, maybe, and uncertainty. 

"I've told Gordon to go ahead on NSFNET without me," Joe said. There was more to that decision, but none of it was Ryan's business. "But I'm going to help him behind the scenes. It's the only way I can continue on the project." 

"And that's my fault, I know." No accusation behind it; somehow in the last few hours, Ryan seemed to have wound down from betrayal into acceptance. "But I'm not going to jail. I can't do it, Joe. I'll take the blame - I have a plan for that - but I'm not-"

"I don't want you to go to jail. I..." The force of it hit him then - the heaviness Ryan's absence had brought, and the desperation to bring him back to center, where everything could be fixed, or forgiven. Joe had only ever wanted that for Cameron or Gordon, and now it seemed most important that Ryan find his way there, too. "I don't want to lose you."

"You push and you push and you push, Joe, and then you pull, and I don't - how does anybody know where to go with you?" Ryan squinted at him. "Who the hell are you really? Where is that Joe MacMillan who blew everything up, set everything on fire, to change the fucking world?"

"Right here," Joe said. He sat back in his chair, cradling his mug in his hands. "But I've learned a few things, things you haven't figured out yet."

"Like what?" Ryan demanded, and there was the arrogance again, rearing its impatient head. 

"Like the fact that when you burn everything down, there's nothing left to care about," Joe said. "What you're left with is emptiness. I've been there. I've hollowed myself out inside and found that I killed everything I cared about. That's why I can't go back to it. There has to be a better way." 

"Your better way is bullshit, if it doesn't lead to change." 

"I don't really endorse the total destruction model of change anymore. Zero sum is too dangerous. It's not smart." 

"Then what?" Ryan said, almost a shout. 

"I have a house. In Mexico - in the Baja," Joe amended. "It's not much, but it's quiet and private. You can make a life there, in the short term."

"If I do that, I'll never have my own life again." 

"Maybe not." Joe set his mug down. "But you'll have a life, and productive work. I'm going to be working behind the scenes, so why shouldn't you?"

"In the middle of fucking nowhere!" 

"Try to...try to understand," Joe said. "I understand why you released the code for MacMillan Utility, why you thought you were taking the path of the righteous. So I need you to try to understand, on the other side of things, why this sacrifice is worth it." 

"All right," Ryan said. He put his hand out to take the mug; it was shaking. He quickly dropped his hand back into his lap, out of Joe's sight. 

"We are creating the future," Joe said. "We're laying the groundwork. Gordon is too good to ever cut me out; whatever money there is to be made, he's going to make damn sure I get my fair share. And my fair share includes a share for you because without you, none of this would have been possible."

"At least you admit that."

"I more than admit it, Ryan, I would give you all of it if I could. But I can't. And the only way to make this happen is to pretend we had nothing to do with it. I'll know, and you'll know. And Gordon will know." 

"And we can never use this to-"

"We won't need it," Joe said. "Look what we've done already." He couldn't help the smile; the pride within him was still so strong, and pride in Ryan, too. "Think about what we can get done, if we keep pushing the envelope. This was one idea. There are others."

"In the dark," Ryan said. "In anonymity."

"You can't be you in this project, no," Joe said. "But that doesn't mean you can't be someone else. And that doesn't mean you have to be someone else forever." 

"It's all hypothetical," Ryan said. 

"Sure it is. But what really great idea isn't? And then guys like you and me, we make it real." 

"Say I go," Ryan said. "Say I do this. What stops you from pretending I don't exist, when you don't need me?"

"That won't happen." 

"It could," Ryan said. "You go through all these guys, you - you burn your friends, you-" He broke off and looked away. 

"I said I couldn't work with Joe MacMillan anymore. I don't want to live with him, either. Any incarnation of him." Joe looked away too, out at the night sky. "There's no future in it. I had to change." 

"You're saying I have to change."

"I'm saying, learn from my mistakes. Otherwise, what the hell did I make them for? Over and over." Joe took a deep breath. "I won't hang you out to dry, Ryan. But you have to come to terms with fucking me over, so it won't happen again." 

Ryan lifted his balled-up fists to the tabletop, and slowly, slowly unfurled them, so his trembling fingers touched the placemat. The silence between them lengthened. Joe looked at his capable hands, through which so much genius had flowed. He leaned forward and rested his elbows against the table, and after a moment's hesitation, covered Ryan's left hand with his own. 

Ryan twitched, and his head jerked up. He settled wide eyes on Joe, who sat waiting. There had to be an end point to destruction, for anything to be worth rebuilding, or they'd just be salting the ash. 

As if he were in pain, Ryan's expression crumpled, and he stood up - too fast, knocking his chair over. He backed up and stumbled, and then moved to the computer, to put both his hands on top of the monitor. "I have to take responsibility," he said. "I wrote - I was going to-"

"Show me," Joe demanded, already moving. He rounded the table to stand beside Ryan, who turned the monitor on and entered two commands. 

YOU ARE NOT SAFE, read the top line of text. Joe scanned the rest of it, paging down as he went, while Ryan stood beside him, breath coming fast. The words were eloquent: an elegy to trust, a plea to avoid isolation and cruelty at the birth of a new era. But underneath them all, Joe could feel Ryan screaming, a man trapped in the inevitable consequence of making the wrong choice. 

Joe reached for him, pulled him close; Ryan was a stiff, shaking weight in his arms. 

"If only we can learn to take care of each other," Joe said softly. 

"You suck at it," Ryan answered, muffled, into Joe's shoulder. 

"I suck at a lot of things." He folded Ryan tighter into his arms, until finally, Ryan's arms went around him, and they stood there, tethered safe, away from the violent destruction Ryan had warned of in every anguished word of his confession. 

After a while, Joe released him, and Ryan wobbled to the sofa and sat down. "Did you already post this?" Joe asked. 

"No, I...I was trying to...I needed to find..." Ryan stared at the windows, at the first gray light appearing near the horizon, and suddenly it came clear to Joe - what that confession was about. 

Joe's knees went weak, and he put a hand out to steady himself against the wall. It took a moment for him to get his breath back, and when he did, he went to the couch and sat down. "We don't have to be now what we want to become," he said. "There's time."

"I'm sorry I said that. About the guys." Ryan sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. "It's never been any of my business." 

"No," Joe said. He reached out - and now, his hands were the ones that shook - and brushed Ryan's unruly hair back from his forehead. "But maybe that's a conversation for another time." Ryan looked sharply at him, and Joe gave him the smallest of smiles. "There are some things about me I can't be so quick to disavow." 

"Not asking you to," Ryan said. 

"Maybe it's not about you asking." Joe slid his hand through Ryan's hair, pleased by the soft shiver it provoked, and then he stood and got his bearings again. He'd always followed his instincts, and right now they were screaming at him. "Don't post that statement. Not yet. We need some time to figure out if it's necessary. And you need some rest." Ryan's eyes strayed back to the window, and Joe's heart gave a funny stutter in his chest. "Take the bedroom. I have some thinking to do." 

"You're sure?" 

"Go on." 

Ryan got to his feet, looking simultaneously ten years older, and very young, and seemed on the verge of saying more. But when he met Joe's eyes, he just nodded, and headed for the bedroom. He left the door open behind him, and Joe couldn't help but follow; there were windows in there, too. 

All he found when he peered inside was Ryan, face down on the bed, too tired even to pull up a blanket. 

Joe returned to the table and sat down in front of the computer. Slowly, methodically, he backspaced until the entire message was gone. 

He was done with destruction. 

***

The little beach house was by itself on a winding road. Joe had only been there three times before - once to buy it, once to break it in with a party, and once to make sure Ryan had all he needed. It had been three months since he'd installed Ryan there, and enough time had passed that he was sure no one was still looking through Joe MacMillan's life to find Ryan Ray. 

He parked in the weedy sand outside the front door and let himself into the tiled entryway. "Anybody home?"

Ryan rounded the corner, barefoot, clad in khaki shorts and a yellow polo shirt, and his poleaxed stare was worth a million miles of lonely driving. "Joe!"

"Honey, I'm home," Joe said with a grin. Ryan caught him in a hug, and Joe returned it gladly. Ryan had put on a few pounds since he'd absconded. It was good weight, healthy weight. Since Joe had dropped him there, fear had nagged at the back of his mind - what if Ryan gave up, what if he walked into the sea one night while no one was watching - and now that fear faded away and was gone. 

"You look good," Ryan said, bounding down the three steps to the main room, where four computers and a white board were mired down between countless stacks of papers. 

"So do you. I see you've been busy," Joe said, following him. "So have I. I have news." He set down three floppy discs he'd carried with him. "With the help of some of her less savory friends, Cameron says she's managed to set down some traps and electronic trails which can give the FBI something new to chew on. We won't implicate anyone specific, but this stuff they've put out there could create enough doubt about the parties involved that it'll be tough to lay that code release squarely at your feet." 

"Are you serious?" Ryan picked up the discs. "Have you already laid the trail?"

"Cameron's laying the groundwork."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Too dangerous. The FBI already had some preliminary data recovered from network traffic on your lines, and they're continuing to build the fraud case. I don't need them questioning Gordon. He's a terrible liar." 

"Joe, that's..." Ryan set the discs down again. "You're sure this won't point to anyone specific?"

"That's what Cameron says. And you know she'd never agree to it otherwise."

"So I might be able to go home again." The wistfulness in Ryan's voice tugged at Joe. "Eventually?"

"Yes. Eventually. Though it doesn't look great that you ran, and you can expect to spend a little time in jail. But you can afford a good lawyer." Joe grinned. 

"Then the project is going well."

"Very well. Not rich yet, but we're going to be. It's just a matter of time." 

Ryan turned and looked back at the work-nest littering the visible parts of the house. "I've been putting together some proposals for you. Some of them you won't like, I know that, but there's potential in them. One of them has to do with global positioning satellites and applicability to weapons systems. It's gold, I'm telling you, there's so much we could do. Another one-"

"Ryan," Joe said. Ryan turned to him expectantly. "Can we get some food first? And some good beer? I've been driving a while."

"Right, food. Sorry. I just....I get caught up." Ryan nodded once to himself, and rooted around for his wallet under a suspiciously tilting stack of papers. Joe watched him with a smile. 

They ate at a beachside bar, used to catering to tourists but mostly empty in mid-March. Joe had tacos and local beer, and Ryan tore his way through a plate of tamales. They clinked bottles in the middle of it, and Joe had a moment where he thought he might actually be perfectly happy, for the first time in months. It was a real feeling, the kind that settled deep in his belly, where the fire for innovation and challenge had always pushed out everything else. This, though. This was a feeling he'd never chased, and yet it had found him anyway. 

"I like it here," Ryan said. "Well enough, anyway. It's cool. Better than living in homeless shelters." He gave Joe such a sincere look that Joe laughed. 

"It is a beautiful place. But it isn't home."

"No." Ryan took another sip of his beer. "I guess I didn't appreciate all of that, before. There's a lot I didn't appreciate."

"You're young, it's normal."

"Stop talking like you're a wise ancient guru," Ryan said impatiently. "It's annoying." 

"I have really missed you," Joe said fondly. Ryan rolled his eyes and chugged the rest of his beer. 

They returned home in the darkness, under a full moon that lit the water with shades of silver. Joe was used to the cold, shiny waves of the Pacific under the Golden Gate Bridge; he had nearly forgotten the soft rolling of the waters in the Gulf of California, which turned warm in the summer. 

Joe found two bottles of beer in the fridge and took them out to the patio. He handed one to Ryan, who stood watching the ocean. The sight of him there gave Joe a momentary flashback to that night in his home, high in the air, far from the ground. 

"I've been worried about you," he said. He set down his unopened beer bottle. 

"I'm all right."

"I see that now." He turned to lean against the low stone-and-tile wall, arms crossed over his chest. Ryan stopped fiddling with his own bottle and set it down with a loud clink. 

"I don't want to be you, anymore. Just thought you should know, I get what you were saying."

"Being me is overrated. Good that you've figured that out." Joe reached up to smooth that same unruly hair which seemed to want to go its own way, like it had never seen a comb. 

"This is - I don't-" Ryan closed his eyes, and Joe took the opportunity to press a gentle kiss to his mouth. 

"Be you," he said softly, against Ryan's lips. "Let the rest fall into place." 

"You're doing it again," Ryan said, that flash of annoyance flickering over his face, even as he stepped closer. Less and less unsure with every touch. Joe remembered how that was. 

He rested his hands at the jut of Ryan's hips and kissed him again. And again, as Ryan opened for him, eager to be kissed. "Everything from here on out - where you go, how much of what you've researched to share with me - will be up to you."

"It already is," Ryan said, raising an eyebrow. 

Joe laughed quietly and picked up his bottle, twisting open the top. He slid an arm around Ryan's waist, watching the moon pull at the sea. He was willing to test the parameters.

**Author's Note:**

> A treat for Rekall. Thank you for giving me a reason to write 3200 words of fix-it. Happy Yuletide!


End file.
